The Blue-Eyed Seven
by BenedictScumberbatch
Summary: In a world full of average people and brown eyes, every now and then a child is born with blue eyes. These children are said to be... extraordinary. Full of adventure, crack, OOCness, original characters, and all kinds of funky cool stuff. It's gonna be a wild ride. Child!lock, Teen!lock. No Mary-Sues, I promise.
1. Little Bird

**_February 8, 2006, 11:49 a.m. New York City, New York_**

"Quick!" a little girl whispered loudly, waving frantically to her brother. The older boy ran after her, slipping soundlessly through the door of Lester's behind a happy-looking couple.

Once the children were inside, they darted behind a rack of clothes, using their small size to their advantage. Quietly, as to go unnoticed, they crept around the store.

The little girl searched, silently, until she found it. A long, forest green dress. It was perfect. It looked soft, and she couldn't resist reaching a hand out to touch it. Velvet. It looked like it was her size. She looked at the tag on the sleeve. She couldn't read it, but she knew it would cost more money than she could fathom.

Slowly, she glanced around. Her eyes met the slate blue of her brother's, and he nodded once. She nodded back, then turned and seized the dress. She melted back into the sea of cloth and slid, smooth as a seal, toward the big glass doors.

She waited, like an adder poised to strike, making no sound, until a young mother and her small daughter walked by, pushing the door open. She sprang, fast as a blink and hushed as a mouse, and shot out the door after the small family. She knew her brother was right on her tail, arms full of clothing as well.

Suddenly, she heard a crash. Her brother was sprawled out on the tiled floor, clothes scattered around him, a wild look of panic in his eyes. He froze, a deer in headlights, and the little girl rushed back and grabbed as much off the floor as she could. Her brother, no longer dazed, did the same, and they scurried out the door.

"Hey!" The shout came after them, along with the sound of heavy, thick-shoed footsteps, slick and squeaky on the polished tile. The children ran faster, weaving between parked cars and food vendors, the expensively dressed store manager following.

"Kodi, look! A dime!" the little girl cheered, stooping to pick up the shiny metal piece.

"There's no time for that!" the boy, Kodiak, yelled frantically, grabbing his sister's dirty hand and pulling her along. They had to go _now_.

"But we need it!" she wailed, eyes watering as a sign of her nearness to crying.

Kodi covered her mouth with his hand, equally as dirty, and pulled her small frame close to his as he ducked behind a corner.

"Don't make a sound," he breathed into her hair, and he felt her small head nodding against his chest.

For a girl of eight years, she was tiny. Malnourishment and sickness had stunted her growth, and she looked no more than five. The boy himself was scrawny, every single rib could be counted, and his arms and legs were hardly more than bone. Their skin was pale and sallow, their hair greasy and tangled, long and dirty, the boy with dark blond and the girl with a dusty reddish color, like an old penny.

The boy held his breath, and his sister shut her eyes, clutching her dress tightly to her chest. She was so quiet and unmoving, she was like one dead. It was always like that, Kodi mused. She talked often and loudly when it was reasonable, but when they had a need for quietude, she would become a statue, soundless, still, and undetected. She was almost invisible to the world.

Kodi himself was not like that, although often he wished he was. How nice it would be to slip by unnoticed, like a snake in the grass. But it was not so. He was not as quiet nor stealthy as his sister. But he had what he needed. He had his wits, and he had his courage. Yes, even an emaciated ten year old boy would fight for his sister if he had to.

Fortunately, this time, there was no need. The man had given up chasing the children, figuring it was a waste of time, and had gone back to make sure nothing else was stolen that day.

"Soon, Little Bird, it will get better soon," Kodiak whispered to the silent little girl.

_**February 8, 2006, 12:24 p.m. New York City, New York**_

A little girl skipped along the dusty streets, warming her hands in the thick hot air that whirled off the cars that crawled by. She was freezing, as a cold drizzle had started to fall, but she was excited. She had picked up the dime from earlier, as well as a quarter that had been dropped by a middle aged man while buying a hotdog. She knew the right thing to do would be to give it back to the man, but she needed it so badly. She ignored the guilt and closed her fingers around the metal tightly.

Wren, as the little girl was called, followed her brother diligently as he hopped from trash can to trash can, rummaging through their contents. Just for today, he ignored the tempting scraps of leftover food, and instead pulled out a half empty water bottle. _How can people be so wasteful?_ he wondered.

"Come here, Little Bird," he called. Wren shuffled toward him, holding out her hands. Kodi poured some water carefully into her cupped fingers, and she scrubbed her dirty face with her wet hands until her freckles were visible. Kodi cleaned his own face, and poured a bit more into his hair.

Once it was almost clean, he helped his sister with her long, orange hair, using his fingers to comb out most of the tangles. He ended up using the rest of the water, but seeing the way his sister's stormy blue eyes lit up when she saw her clean, shiny hair was worth it.

Wren pulled her hair over her shoulder and braided it, tying it off with a string she had found on the curb. She frowned. Her hair was getting long, it was down to the backs of her knees, and it would not do. She would need to cut it soon.

Wren and Kodiak changed swiftly into their new clothes. The dress, which would fit any other girl her age, was a bit big on Wren. The sleeves swallowed her hands and the collar kept slipping off her shoulder, and she nearly fell over when she stepped on the trailing fabric around her ankles, but she loved it, and refused to take it off. Kodi, dressed in a buttoned shirt and khaki pants, sighed and rolled up the sleeves so that her hands could be seen. At least the length of the dress would hide the fact that she had no shoes on her small feet.

Wren flashed her brother a crooked-toothed grin and began giggling. Kodi smiled back, and soon they were both laughing. They laughed together until Wren snorted, which only caused them both to laugh harder.

"Did you hear that?" Wren squealed, laughing and clapping her hands. "I sounded like a piggy!" She snorted again.

Kodi sat down, clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. "Oink oink!" he guffawed, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes.

After a few minutes, they calmed down, only to look at each other and begin laughing again. Kodi stood up suddenly, grabbing Wren's wrist, and ran to a quaint little French eatery, pulling his delighted sister with him. The smile was still on his face when he stopped at the door.

He gave his sister a serious look, and she coughed, smile fading, the last sound before she became no more than a shadow. They walked easily into La Luncheonette, and sat down at a table with a clean white cloth and tall, fancy glasses. A candle glowed from the center of the table and silver cutlery rested on deep red napkins. Even when trying to remain deadpan, Kodi could not keep the happiness from dancing in his blue eyes at the expensive class of the small restaurant.

Wren looked around, moving only her pale eyes. To her left was a window. It was open. There was no screen. It was small, and narrow and perfect.

The waitress came and handed them menus, as well as a basket of complementary bread. Kodi slipped the bread into his pockets and looked at the menu._ Oh no! I can't read French! _Kodi thought, staring at the foreign words.

Wren stared blankly at the letters on the menu. She couldn't read at all. Many times, Kodi had tried to teach her, but she would always got so frustrated and Kodi would lose patience and Wren would cry and it always ended in a mess.

When the waitress came back, she asked the children what they wanted to order. Wren pointed to a random spot on the menu, not knowing what else to do.

"Escargot? Are you sure, honey?" the waitress asked, surprised that a little girl would order snails. Wren just nodded, and the waitress bewilderedly wrote her order down.

Kodi pointed at something that said "salad". He had no idea what the French words meant, but a salad couldn't possibly be bad, right?

The waitress scribbled on her notepad before bringing their order to the chef.

"What did you order?" Kodi asked. Wren shrugged. She didn't know.

"I got a salad. Not sure what kind, but, hopefully it's good," he sighed inwardly. Wren nodded.

They sat in silence for awhile until their food came. Wren's eyes widened in horror as a plate of snails was placed in front of her, causing Kodi to laugh at her disgusted expression.

The salad turned out to be a delightful-looking salad of various greens, red cubes that might have been beets, string beans, and two large, juice pieces of roasted chicken. Kodi's mouth watered, and he saw Wren hungrily eyeing his plate.

He smirked, glancing swiftly to the window. It was go time. All at once, the two, brother and sister, stood up. Kodi grabbed both plates as Wren wriggled out the window, dropping lightly to the sidewalk below. Kodi passed the plates to her and climbed out head first. He twisted around and as his feet hit the ground, he scooped up the larger plate and began running.

Wren and Kodi ran to 5th street, ducking into an alley they called home. It wasn't much, just a rusty old dumpster and a piece of out-of-place roofing that hung over their heads, keeping out the worst of the rain.

They say down, backs pressed against the damp brick wall and plates of rapidly cooling food in their laps. They shared a weak grin before Kodi took the bread out of his pocket, breaking it and handing half to his sister. He chewed it thoughtfully, savoring the hearty flavor.

Wren picked up a snail, eyeing it skeptically. "Guess we're eating slugs for dinner," she said raising it up. She still looked somewhat fearful, but she was in no position to complain. Kodi picked up his own. "Happy birthday, Kodi," Wren dedicated, placing the escargot in her mouth, swallowing it whole.

Kodi sighed. "Happy birthday to me," he said before downing the snail. It was chewy, like rubber, but it wasn't all bad. It was food, and he needed the calories.

Together they shared one piece of chicken and most of the greenery. Wren didn't touch the escargot again, but Kodi ate a few more pieces before they were full. Kodi found a plastic bag in the dumpster that was only a little dirty. He rinsed it in a puddle before putting the rest of the food in it. They couldn't afford to waste even a bite.

With the food safely tucked away, the children laid down in a corner, blocking out most of the wind. They huddled together for warmth, and drifted off into dreamless sleep, punctuated with the sound of busy footsteps and car engines.

_**February 11, 2006, 4:37 a.m. New York City, New York**_

A little girl walked along, absently touching the ends of her much shorter hair. Now it was just past her shoulders, and free of tangles. Kodi had found a broken bottle, and had used a sharp piece of glass to cut their hair. Kodi had only cut himself twice, and he had wrapped his fingers in a scrap of cloth.

Now as Wren sauntered around the predawn city, she felt happy. When her parents had died, she thought she would never smile, never laugh again in this dirty, bustling city. But as the years wore on, she found a certain lightness in living and a content type of joy in each day, as hard as things got, and she knew it's how her mother would have wanted her to live.

Her parents died in a car accident when Wren had been four. It had been a warm day in May, all beautiful blue skies, fluffy white clouds and green springy leaves. They had left their pleasant little apartment in Connecticut to celebrate their father'a birthday. Kodi had always wanted to see the Empire State Building, so they had all climbed into their little car and were off. They had had such a good time in the City, laughing together and pointing out all the neat things they saw while in the car. To Kodi's delight, they had not only seen, but gone inside, the Empire State Building. They took pictures together to document the wonderful time they had spent together that day. When they had gotten back in the car to go home, a shiny, black car had slid right into their own. Their car spun from the impact, swerving into a taxi. When they finally stopped moving, their father was already dead, but their mother was still alive somehow. Kodi and Wren herself were fine, with only bruises from their fortunately worn seat belts. Wren had crawled up to her mother in the passenger seat, watching her swallow a mouthful of blood, some of it trickling down her lip, and attempt a weak smile. Even at a young age, Wren wasn't fooled. "Stay strong, Little Bird," her mother had whispered, reaching up to touch Wren's face. Her hand never made it. She had died there, dark eyes closing forever, while Wren screamed and Kodi cried.

After that, Wren and Kodi had fought to keep their miserable existence, and often Wren had cried, Kodi hushing her softly even as tears filled his own eyes.

But now, as she looked at the early lights in the skyscrapers and felt the damp winter air on her face, she felt alright, and she smiled.

A hand grabbed her wrist. She breathed in sharply. Kodi wasn't there for her this time. She was spun around, and she saw a pair of extravagantly polished shoes and expensively tailored trousers.

"Hello, little girl," the man practically purred, voice radiating power and confidence. "What are you doing at this time of night? Don't you know it's dangerous?" he asked, each word carefully placed. His hand was still gripping her wrist.

"It's morning," Wren ground out, taking an instant dislike to this man. She tugged her hand, but he only tightened his grip. "Let go of me!" She spat on his shoe

The man tisked. "That's not very polite, sweetheart." The man's wicked grin could almost be heard in his voice, but Wren stared stubbornly at the sticky spots of spit on his shoes. "Didn't your _mother_ teach you manners?"

At those words, Wren whipped her head up to glare fiercely at the man. Her eyes widened. His knowingly smug face seemed familiar somehow, and a foreboding feeling settled in Wren's gut. The man had a dangerously handsome face, youthful, but not childish, with warm, chocolatey eyes and a slim, smirking mouth. Sharp teeth poked gently below his pale lips, and his eyes were keen and interested, giving him resemblance to a starved lion.

The man laughed, his silk voice sounding much scarier. He seemed to grow, towering over Wren. In an instant, his eyes widened fractionally, unintentionally, and Wren knew, with cold dread, what he was after.

Wren shut her eyes tightly, but she knew it was too late. The man leaned down, and she felt his hot breath on her face, tasting of expensive coffee and minty chewing gum, but she did not open her eyes.

"Don't be rude," the man whispered in a syrupy voice, thumb pad running roughly over her eyelid. "Look at me when I'm talking," he ordered, voice full of authority, and Wren felt her eyes twitch, wanting, needing to obey. She fought the urge, and squeezed her eyes tighter.

"Ashley, there you are!" a decidedly male voice shouted from behind.

Both Wren and the man turned to look at the speaker. A tall, young man with thin brown hair and a red tie came running toward the pair. He stopped in front of Wren, relief, if somewhat forced, in his eyes. Suddenly, a blacker emotion of anger flickered in their depths, and he pushed the man off of Wren, raising his clenched fist in a silent threat.

"Do not touch my daughter," the mysterious man growled, pushing Wren safely behind him.

Wren was confused. This man was not her father, and her name was not Ashley, so why did this man seem to think she was? Wren realized, with a start, that this man probably wasn't mistaking her from someone else, but rather was protecting her. She was glad.

The bad, creepy man laughed. He laughed, and put his hands up in mock defeat. "Okay, okay. I wasn't going to hurt her," he informed, although unconvincingly. "I just wanted to tell her that she has pretty eyes," he said with a meaningful smirk and a wink.

The older man, who was making an effort to control himself, pinned Wren's attacker against the cracked wall behind him. The man only smiled, making no effort to defend himself. Wren's self-proclaimed "father" leaned his face dangerously close to the younger man's, lip curled back in a disgusted sneer.

"If you touch another one, I swear to you, that will be the day I kill you," he breathed, lowly. "Do you hear me? Do not touch her, Jim."

He let go of the still-grinning man and turned his attention back to Wren. He took her hand, firm enough to be decisive, gentle enough to be comforting. "Come along, Ashley, and this time, stay with me."

Wren nodded earnestly, gripping the man's hand with her own small one. She looked up at him thankfully while they walked away. The man, Jim, fixed his rumpled suit, carefully smoothing out each wrinkle.

When Wren and the man had reached the curb, Jim spoke one last time, quietly, but still heard somehow over the squeal of bike tires and the howling of passing cars.

"Remember my face yet, Little Bird? Well this time, I'm sure you'll _never_ forget."


	2. Train Car

**_February 11, 2006, 8:31 a.m. New York City, New York_**

_"Remember my face yet, Little Bird? Well this time, I'm sure you'll never forget."_

The words echoed around Wren's head like an omen. She was worried. How had he known her nickname? And where had she seen him before? She knew she had, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of any time she had seen such a face. It couldn't have been any ordinary affair, for surely she would not have recognized him, and he would not have remembered her, unless he happened to be very extraordinary himself. No, it had to have been something different, something unusual, for surely the man would not have made a point in talking to her otherwise. But she could not piece it all together, and the holes clouded her mind.

Kodiak watched the anxious profile of his sister with concern. Her face was scrunched in unease, lip chewed between crooked teeth and freckled brow wrinkled. Something was clearly bothering her. He didn't know what.

The screech of opening doors startled Wren out of her unusual thoughts. She turned and looked around the subway car. A young teenage boy sat in a corner on the other side of Kodi, listening to music quietly while staring wistfully ahead, as if he weren't really seeing. A man, a businessman, sat closer to Wren, leg crossed over his thigh, reading the morning paper. An older woman slept, snoring softly, her pale pink cardigan wrapped loosely around her shoulders. A well-dressed woman sat beside a little boy who was bouncing and giggling. The woman tried to hush him, looking reasonably embarrassed, juggling her phone and one of the boy's toys. She glanced around the subway cabin, an apologetic smile on her lips.

Only a few people were on, surprising considering they were in Brooklyn. Or where they in the Bronx by now? Wren didn't know anymore.

**_February 11, 2006, 4:46 a.m. New York City, New York_**

"Tell me, girl, what is your name?" the man asked as he guided Wren along the busy New York streets. His hand was rough, but warm, and his larger fingers covered Wren's hand entirely.

"Wren," the little girl whispered. She curiously asked, "What's your's?"

The man paused "You can call me Myc," the man replied curtly. He seemed distant, awkward but not apathetic, and hurried, with an strange urgency that Wren did not understand.

"Mike," Wren began, glancing up at the man uncertainly, "what did that man mean when he said that I have pretty eyes?"

Myc seemed startled, but to his credit, he recovered quickly.

"Surely you must know something already," he replied carefully.

Wren thought about it for a while. "Is it because they're blue?" she asked, already knowing that she was right.

"That's... part of it, yes," Myc replied, deciding how much he should tell the child.

"Well, what else is there?" Wren questioned, curiosity and anxiety filling her mind.

"It's said that there are only a few people born with blue eyes; only seven at a time. These people are not like the others."

Wren's eyes widened. She knew her eye color was uncommon, but she didn't know it was that rare. But just how were these people, people like her and her brother, so different than others.

"What? How am I different? Is it bad?" Wren demanded in rapid succession.

"No. Quite the opposite, actually," Myc explained. "People with blue eyes are said to be extraordinary."

"Wow," Wren breathed. "That's so cool!" She was completely enthralled, and she couldn't wait to hear what more Myc had to say.

"Not entirely," Myc warned presagefully. "With great power comes great risk."

Wren bit her lip. Myc must be referring to Jim.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked with a sinking feeling.

Myc opened his mouth, and shut it again. He straightened his jacket.

"I've said too much already," he whispered, more to himself than Wren. "Don't worry about it. For now, just come with me."

Wren was not satisfied, but she sensed that she would not get more out of Myc.

"Where are we going?" She asked skeptically. She admittedly had just met Myc and did not have the advantage of knowing his habits, and she wasn't keen on following a perfect stranger, even if he had saved her.

"To a safe place. It wouldn't do to have you hurt," he replied shortly.

"Hurt from what?" Wren cried, confusion and concern fogging her head. She had just about had it with Myc's dodgy answers, and for once, she wanted something substantial, something that didn't leave the taste of uncertainty in her mouth. She was tired of the riddles that no eight year old would be able to understand. "What will I be hurt from?" she whined. "Why won't you tell me?"

"It's for you're own good!" Myc nearly shouted. He had stopped walking, and Wren stumbled to a halt behind him. Myc, seeing the scared and wounded look in Wren's eyes, sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Look, I didn't mean to shout, but this is for your safety," he said gently. "I don't want you to get hurt. You'll thank me for it later," he promised.

Wren nodded somberly. "What about Kodi?" She asked all of the sudden, remembering her brother.

"Ah, so that's the name of your brother," he said, much to Wren's bewilderment and, frankly, discomfort. How did he know she had a brother? Wren had no idea how the man even knew she existed, let alone her whole life's story. This was certainly not an average day. "I've accounted for him as well. He shall be coming with us."

Alright then, thought Wren, deciding, whether it was a mistake or not was uncertain, to trust this man, and she flowed where he lead.

**_February 11, 2006, 8:34 a.m. New York City, New York_**

A well-dressed boy in a dimly colored wool coat and black trousers walked into the small compartment. His dark hair was slicked back, although no amount of styling could hide the natural kinks of his hair. His shoes, polished to a shine, made soft sounds on the floor.

He sat down a few seats away from a redheaded girl who looked very small, and crossed his arms, frowning. He noticed that his father sat on the complete other side of the car, already having his laptop out, typing away.

Of course he would, the boy thought. He only ever thinks about his work. It wasn't fair. He didn't want to be here. It wasn't his fault his dad had to go on some stupid business trip, to a different country, and that he had been dragged along. He wondered why his father had even brought him with him. He would have preferred his father to have him stay home by himself, like he normally did. Perhaps his father did care, and didn't want his son to be alone for a month while his father was in the States. But he didn't know. He couldn't tell what his father thought. He was like a safe, closed up and locked away.

I wonder why he's like that, the boy thought sadly. He thought of all the other children who played outside his window, and their parents who would go out of their way and do anything for their child. Why can't my father be like them?

"What's you're name?" a voice chirped in his ear, startling him. He ignored it, still trying to figure out why his father didn't love him. Wasn't that what parents did? Loved their children unconditionally?

"Hellooo... I'm talking to you," the voice persisted, and the boy turned to see the red headed girl, who had scooted the few seats over and was now next to him. Her eyes were wide and teeming with curiosity, like an inquisitive fawn.

"What," the boy asked halfheartedly.

"What's you're name?" she repeated brightly.

"Sherlock," the boy muttered. He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but clearly this little chatterbox had other ideas.

"I've never heard that name before. It's funny." She laughed innocently. Sherlock didn't even want to be talking to this girl, let alone having his name insulted. "I'm Wren," she introduced.

"What kind of a name is that?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask. Wren? Wasn't that a type of small, unattractive bird?

"It's a bird," Wren said proudly. "But what's a 'Sherlock'? That sounds like a bad haircut," she snorted.

Sherlock felt a bit hurt, and a lot annoyed. He did not like this little girl.

"It's the name my mother picked out!" he defended, feeling sad suddenly, and grumpy.

"Well, wrens are the kings of the birds," Wren stated matter-of-factly, a contently smug smile on her face.

"What? That's absurd! How can an ugly little bird be a king?" Sherlock scoffed.

Wren frowned at him for being rude. "Well, the story goes like this," she began, and Sherlock nearly groaned. He didn't want to hear this. "The birds in the forest needed a ruler, and nearly all the birds wanted to be king. Fighting broke out among the birds, and no one could decide on a king." This already sounds stupid, Sherlock thought. "Owl, the wisest of the birds, came up with a challenge to decide on a king. He said 'Whichever bird can fly the highest will be king.' All the birds agreed with the idea, and they started to fly. Little Chickadee tried with all her might, but she didn't get very high at all. Robin got much higher, but he still wasn't as fast as some of the bigger birds. Heron used his big wings, but he still wasn't the highest. Raven got even higher than Heron, but she still wasn't the highest. Eagle flew as high as he could, and only once he was too tired to fly any higher did he check to see who was above him. He realized that he was above all the other birds, looking down at them all. He would be king. Suddenly, he felt something moving in his feathers. Little Wren had hidden in his plumage! Wren fluttered his little wings until Eagle was far below him. No other bird could fly higher than Wren did, so Wren became the king." When Wren had finished she gave a satisfied smile.

"That's just a stupid fairy tale!" Sherlock exclaimed, feeling like he wasted his time listening to this little girl tell her stupid story.

"No it's not! It's true!" Wren insisted.

"How do you know? Did you read it in a history book?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

Wren looked taken aback. "N-no," she stuttered, quickly losing confidence. "My mother told it to me every night," she said, somewhat childishly. Then she quietly admitted, "I can't read."

Sherlock was shocked. He understood this girl was very young, but surely she should be able to read by now!

"You can't read?" he repeated incredulously and Wren shook her head shamefully in confirmation. "Well, I taught myself to read when I was four," Sherlock boasted.

Wren's eyes grew wide, adoring even. Sherlock wondered what she was thinking.

"You did?" she breathed, awe hushing her voice.

"Yep. And now I read books that have no pictures," he said with pride. After all, most nine year olds read books with at least a few pictures. Or, that's what Sherlock thought anyway.

"Cool," Wren said enthusiastically. "Can you teach me how to read?" she asked suddenly.

"No," Sherlock replied instantly, although feeling admittedly flattered that this girl had taken such a sudden interest in him. He still didn't like her, and he did not want to teach her how to read. Besides, he probably wouldn't see her again once he got off this underground train, and for that he was thankful.

"Please?" she begged, looking up at Sherlock with wide, pleading blue eyes.

"No. I'm not going to teach you. Learn on your own," he said rather coldly and dismissively, turning his head away.

The little girl sniffled. Sherlock swiftly turned his head back to look at her, startled. She wasn't about to cry, was she?

Sure enough, Wren's eyes watered. She blinked, wiping harsh fists over her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked, perhaps a bit insensitively. He was completely bewildered, and he could not imagine why this child would be crying right now.

"It's just," she paused, wiping her nose. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and politely said nothing. "My mom never taught me how to."

"It's mum," Sherlock corrected. "Can you not speak right either?" he mocked.

Wren's face contorted. Her eyebrows lowered and she frowned deeply. Sherlock supposed she was angry.

"No, it's mom, and I can speak just fine," she said moodily.

"Are you sure? Because now that I think about it, you sound kind of funny," Sherlock asked offenselessly.

"I do not sound funny! Everybody talks like this," Wren declared. "You sound funny."

"You're wrong!" Sherlock accused. "I talk like everybody else. You're lying. You talk funny." Sherlock paused, weighing his words. "Didn't you're parents raise you right?"

Wren's face reddened, and Sherlock felt a little guilty, although he didn't know why. Wren's stormy eyes were damp, and she turned away, burying her face in her hands.

"My parents are dead!" she cried, shoulders shaking. She tried to speak again, but she didn't know what to say, and she gave up.

Sherlock felt bad. He felt really bad. He knew he had gone too far. He just made this little girl cry. He did not want to apologize, although he knew he should.

Sherlock placed an awkward hand on Wren's shoulder. He was met with a glare, and quickly pulled his hand away. He didn't know what to do.

"If it helps any," he began, uncertainly. "My mummy died, too," he admitted.

Wren looked up at him, surprised. He didn't look like a boy who lost his mother. He looked like one of the wealthy people with two working parents and enough money to buy anything under the sun.

Wren regarded him carefully, determining that he was most likely telling the truth.

"R-really?" she managed, surprise and sympathy in her voice.

"She died giving birth to me. Father said she was a wonderful, beautiful woman, and that I have her eyes," Sherlock said, subdued.

Wren looked more closely at his face, blinking away the leftover tears. His skin was pale and unblemished, with slim, dark, wiry eyebrows, and lips pressed in a thin line. And he spoke in a funny way that Wren associated with people from another country. His eyes were blue, like water, with a steely green around the center. Wren breathed in sharply through her nose.

Sherlock was confused. This girl could not be that surprised that his mother had died in childbirth. He didn't know where the shock had come from, and it bothered him that he didn't know, and couldn't figure it out.

"My mom died four years ago. In a car accident," said Wren after a pause. "I miss her," she said softly

Sherlock looked at her incredulously. This little girl would not have been able to remember her mother at such a young age.

"She died when you were one?" he asked, stunned.

"No!" Wren exclaimed, offended. "I'm not," she counted on her fingers, "five! I'm eight!" she said proudly.

Sherlock stared at her blankly. He did not believe her. She could not have been more than five, six at most, although Sherlock admittedly did not have a very good gauge on these things.

"No way!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can't be more than six," he said with finality.

"Believe what you will, but I'm eight. How old are you?" she asked, smiling up at him.

This girl was a puzzle to Sherlock. Why did she seem to dislike him so much, and yet still be friendly to him? He couldn't fathom it.

"I'm nine," he said smugly. Even if Wren was telling the truth about her age, he was still older.

"Cool!" Wren said simply.

Sherlock opened his mouth in reply, but was cut off.

"Sherlock, this is our stop, and I cannot have you remain in New York City. Do come here immediately and do not be a burden," his father said, and Sherlock ruefully stood from his seat and made his way to the man.

He glanced behind him and gave Wren a half smile, to which she waved and stuck out her tongue playfully. He waved back, before walking off the train car, breaking contact with her blue eyes.

-.-.-.-.-

Wren sat back further in her seat, swinging her short legs. She had rather liked Sherlock, yet he had still managed to irritate her, and she found it amusing to mess with him.

Still, his presence had only been a short distraction, and her thoughts once again turned to the man in the alley. She shuttered.

"Wren?" Kodi said quietly. Wren looked at him. "Who was that boy you were talking to?"

Wren shrugged. "He said his name was Sherlock. He talked funny. Like Mike, but funnier. He was nice," she said casually.

Kodi nodded, glad his sister had made a friend, even if it was short lived.

"So Wren, what exactly happened? With Mike?" Kodi asked, with sudden, guarded intensity.

Wren motioned for him to be quiet, and told him, in full detail, what had happened.


End file.
